


Lady in the Street

by a_hemmen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bottom Bucky, Bucky is a veteran, Bucky just needs a hug, M/M, Nat is a good friend, No Spoilers, Not childhood friends au, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam is an even better therapist, Top Steve, and pancakes, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:13:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hemmen/pseuds/a_hemmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky blows off steam (and avoids overthinking) by spending his free time hooking up with strangers and flirting his way through avoiding real conversations. Enter Steve Rogers. </p><p>Title from the song Yeah! by Usher, because originally it was just gonna be PWP (10,000 words later...) This work is entirely un-beta'ed except by me, so all mistakes are totally and completely my own.</p><p>Also: see my full list of works on my author page OR at <a href="http://morejessicajonesplease.tumblr.com/ao3works">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky

Lights flash all around him. The bass is so loud that Bucky can’t make out the words, if there are any words. He hasn’t been paying enough attention to tell. Most vets would be bothered by this; the pounding music is all too reminiscent of the ever present explosions that most of them had to endure. 

Bucky, though, thrives off the noise. These days, it’s the quiet that bothers him. His therapist at the VA would have quite a bit to say about it, if he would ever mention it; Bucky’s sure of that. 

He smiles at the bartender. The charming, overly-confident smile of his high school days. Recently, he’s only been able to pull off that smile after a few rounds, hence the pregaming at his apartment before he hailed the taxi outside his apartment. 

The bartender, a girl with winged eyeliner and a tattoo covering the whole of her neck, sets down a shot and tall glass of some imported beer, winking at him as she walks away. He considers for a moment. He could sit here, at the bar, make small-talk with the lonely guy sitting by himself at the end the bar, let the guy complain about his spouse or his job, all while Bucky could give the girl bedroom eyes, winking at her before she walked away. He could wait till the end of her shift, and they could get hot and heavy in the bathroom. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that. 

He decides to scan the club first. If he does decide to get with the bartender, she doesn’t have to know that she was his backup plan. 

He’d made the mistake of letting someone catch on to that in high school, once. He’d never been punched so hard in his life. 

He’s rubbing his jaw, thinking about how a girl who weighed 130 pounds soaking wet could hit harder than any of the guys he met during his service, when he sees him. 

This guy could play an Egyptian god in one of those whitewashed action flicks that come out every couple of years. Tall, with broad shoulders. He hasn’t looked towards Bucky yet, but Bucky tries to reign in his imagination. He doesn’t want to be disappointed. Lots of people have nice bodies with a face that looks like it got hit by a-

 _Damn_. 

Not only does this guy have the body of some kind of sex god. He has the jawline of a fucking statue. Bucky can only think two things. _Fuck him_ and _god, I wanna fuck him_. He can’t help but to imagine what Mr. Sex God would look like with his hair messed up; his entire body covered in a layer of sweat. 

Now that Bucky is sure the man really is the full package -hopefully literally a full package soon, Bucky can’t help but snicker to himself- all he has to do is make sure that the man is at least kind of into guys. Hopefully, he’s totally into guys, but Bucky has worked with less before. 

The chances are pretty good. While this isn’t _technically_ a gay bar, it’s not exactly the straightest place in New York.

The man is talking to a girl, though Bucky isn’t too worried about that, it looks pretty platonic from where he’s standing, they are talking and joking around like old friends. 

Bucky heads to the bathroom. He’d been planning on a quick hook-up with someone average looking. He didn’t think he was going to meet Adonis himself. He probably should have put some sort of product in his hair after getting out of the shower; it always looks nicer when he does. And although his shirt definitely brings out the blue in his eyes, he wishes he would have put on some of that eye liner shit he’s been experimenting with. 

He smooths back his hair, messing with it for a few minutes before finally deciding to just throw it up into one of those man-bun things that the guys were showing him how to do the other day. Better to look like a pretentious hipster than a mangy homeless guy. 

He walks out of the bathroom, trying to appear confident. And he does. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that picking people up at bars is one of those things that Bucky has always been good at, but he really does feel confident. 

As he’s walking towards the table, he breaks his eyes away from Mr. Sex God and gets a decent look at his companion. If the man doesn’t swing his way, he could definitely console himself with the gorgeous redhead he’s sitting with. 

“What the hell are you staring at?” Okay, so maybe the redhead wouldn’t exactly put up with being a second choice. 

There was a point where Bucky would have been blushing all the way down to his toes if someone caught him staring. That was years ago. Now, he just smirks. “I was wondering why someone so damn pretty is sitting down at the place that has the best DJ in New York.” 

The redhead just laughs without humor. “Sorry, hotstuff. Cheap pickup lines don’t work on me anymore.” 

Yes, Bucky is pretty sure that he would like this woman, even if she flat out refused to sleep with him. His MO at the moment, however, is not making friends. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m not one to turn down a dance with a beautiful woman, but I wasn’t talking about you.”

Adonis, who had been watching with a bemused expression up until that point, splutters.

Bucky attempts to not freak out over how completely adorable that was and raises his eyebrow. “What about you? My cheap pickup lines work on you?” 

The redhead, who up until then had looked somewhat terrifying and completely unapproachable, suddenly just looks mischievous. “Of course they do.” She practically pushes the man out of his chair. “Weren’t you just saying that you wanted to dance?” Bucky can’t see the man’s face, but judging by the redhead’s faux innocent expression, he’s glaring at her. 

The man turns around, and Bucky can see the rejection in his eyes, he’s going to tell Bucky no. And though Bucky is by no means going to force the man to dance, he’s not in the mood to be told no, and he’s not above playing dirty. 

He drops the cocky facade and let’s his eyes plead for him. “Just one dance, that’s all I’m asking. And if I step on your toes, you can sit back down _and_ I’ll by a round for you and your friend.” 

Bucky watches the resolve drop from the man’s face. “I can’t dance.”

Bucky smirks again. “That doesn’t sound like a no.” Steve blushes again. He sets down his drink, obviously ignoring the smug look on his friends face and nods. 

“One dance can’t hurt.” 

“No, no it can’t.” Bucky wants to cry tears of joy. The start walking away from the table. “What’s your name?”

The man blushes, probably remembering that Bucky is a total stranger. “Steve,” No last name, but that’s what Bucky had been expecting. “Yours?” 

“Bucky.” He follows Steve’s lead, not giving his last name. 

Bucky suppresses the urge to gloat (though, honestly, he’s not sure who he would gloat to, anyway) as he leads Steve towards the dancefloor. He notices a couple people -both guys and girls- glaring at them as they walk by, and he can only assume that they’re all jealous. Rightfully so, in his opinion. He’s got to be walking with the most attractive man in the city, if not the country. 

“Bucky?” Steve pauses right before they get on the dancefloor. Bucky turns around, an eyebrow raised in question. “I really can’t dance. I’m really bad, awful really.”

Bucky just smiles. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Steve nods. “Well, Steve, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Because with dancing, it’s all about who leads, and you, my friend, happened to land yourself a lesson with the best dancer in this city.” 

Bucky’s friends have mentioned on several (a lot more than several) occasions that, while he talks a big talk, he does not always, necessarily, deliver. This is not one of those cases. He has always been a good dancer, and the tango club he had joined in high school (to ‘meet girls’ when people gave him a hard time about it) had made him a great dancer.. 

Bucky, who until that point had been primarily thinking about convincing Steve to blow him in the bathroom, slows down. He grabs Steve’s hand, gently. “You just need to relax. Most people are only awful dancers if they try to think about it too much.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath.

Bucky finally gets Steve pulled onto the dance floor. The music is loud, and gives Bucky the perfect excuse to get really close to Steve. Teaching does require at least some talking. He’s thankful that they’re almost the same height, this would be more difficult if Steve was any taller. He leans in real close, his lips almost touching Steve’s ear. “We’ll stay in the middle, nobody will be watching us here, they’ll be too busy dancing themselves.” Bucky feels Steve tense up, hopefully in a good way, but he ignores it for now. Bucky is teaching. 

Steve, adorable, giant teddy bear that he obviously is, is swaying back and forth, almost in time with the music.

Bucky smirks up at Steve and then leans in real close again. “‘Gonna make this easy on you, how’s that sound?”

“No salsa tonight?” Steve’s laugh is nervous, like he is legitimately worried that Bucky’s going to make him look like an idiot. It almost hurts his feelings, until he remember that he did force the guy out of his seat and practically march him to the dance floor. 

“Here at Bucky’s School of Dance, we wait until at least the fifth lesson to start any sort of salsa, don’t you worry.” 

“Yes, sir.” Steve blushes as he says it. 

Bucky almost has a heart attack. “No way, any and all kinks are reserved for at least the third lesson. We need to start at the basics.” 

Bucky almost expects the guy to fucking salute at him, but, thank god, he doesn’t. 

Steve’s almost laughing again, and much more relaxed than before. That should make Bucky’s job easier, if nothing else. He thinks for a second. Just how easy should Bucky be right now? On a scale of 8th grade flirt to horny college student, just how obvious should he make himself. He considers Steve’s jaw line, thinks about how his t-shirt is stretched just a little bit too much over his biceps. 

Horny college student. 

“Just follow my lead, ‘kay?” Steve probably nods, but Bucky doesn’t see it. He grabs both of Steve’s hands and turns around, guiding Steve’s hands to the widest part of his hip. He starts moving to the music, hearing the rhythm of the song and just letting his body flow. Steve’s hands stay on his hips, but Bucky can almost smell the anxiety. 

He turns around again, and Steve almost looks guilty, not meeting Bucky’s eye. “Hey, Steve.” Bucky reaches his hand out and gently brings Steve’s chin up so that they’re eye to eye. “Dancing is like sex. It’s just sex, without penetration, and sometimes with less touching. That’s all it is. Not hard, just sex.” 

Steve, for the first time since Bucky has known him, smirks. “You may know how to dance, but if that’s your description of sex, I think you might be going about it the wrong way.” 

Bucky can feel his brow wrinkle, and then, with a snort, he realizes what he said. “C’mon, you jackass, dance with me.” 

Bucky decides to try something new. He pulls Steve’s arms back around him, tighter this time. They’re closer, and facing each other. He refrains from measuring just how wide Steve’s shoulders span and rests his arms across them, clasping his hands around his neck and pulling them even closer together. He begins moving his hips, making sure that they stay just how of the vicinity of Steve’s. 

He smirks, raising an eyebrow at Steve. “Is this better?” He has to look up to talk to Steve, just the littlest bit. 

Steve, finally, begins to tentatively move with the music. “Almost.” And then Steve takes Bucky’s hips and pulls him closer.


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve just planned on a quiet night drinking with Natasha. Enter Bucky Barnes

Steve hadn’t expected to have fun even before Natasha had finally succeeded in dragging him out of the house, and now that he was here, he was very unpleasantly not surprised. His beer was good, but he could drink that at home, or even at Sam’s, if he was feeling adventurous. They could watch bad movies and shit talk all the people they worked with. He sighs contentedly just thinking about it. 

But no, Nat has been on this weird ‘socializing with new people is good for you’ phase. He had preferred her vegan phase. Even her knitting phase had been better than this. And he had been forced to wear neon pink and green -”They were the cheapest colors!”- beanies out in public. 

Yes, he most definitely preferred the knitting phase. 

“The tall guy with the ‘fuck me’ eyes? He’s heading this way. Do you think he’s coming for me or you?” 

Steve doesn’t even look back at the guy. “You, I would bet on it.” 

“Dishes.”

“What?”

“The dishes, for the next week. Plus any that I use at the office.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. Sometimes he forgets that he lives with a twelve year old. “Fine. But if I win, you do the laundry, for a month.” 

“Not fair terms.” 

“Dishes every day is more work than doing the laundry four, maybe five, times.” 

Nat _hmphs_. “I could be assaulted, Steve Rogers. The laundromat is dangerous.” 

“Nat, we go to the gym together. There’s not a guy in this city who could beat you in a fair fight.” Natasha looks as if she’s going to protest. “And I know that you don’t fight fair.” 

She smiles at that. “Deal.”

The man must reach their table, because Nat looks away from Steve and glares up at someone else. “What the hell are you staring at?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. Cheater. She’s going to make sure he doesn’t flirt with her. That way, if he doesn’t flirt with anyone, she can at least claim it was a draw. 

“I was wondering why someone so damn pretty is sitting down at the place that has the best DJ in New York.” Steve almost starts laughing. No laundry. For a month. Maybe he _should_ go out more often. 

Natasha just laughs, without humor. “Sorry, hotstuff. Cheap pickup lines don’t work on me anymore.” He almost feels bad for the guy. It’s not his fault that Nat is simultaneously the hottest and most terrifying woman in the world. Plus, the man has a nice voice. It’s not very often that people who work up the courage to flirt with Natasha have a nice voice.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m not one to turn down a dance with a beautiful woman, but I wasn’t talking about you.”

Steve, who had been allowing himself a victory drink, splutters. He looks up at the guy. He has a nice body, Steve notices thoughtlessly. But _this man’s eyes, God_. And Steve wants to pull the tie out of his hair, see what it looks like all messed up from- “What about you?” The man -very inconsiderately- interrupts Steve’s imaginings. “My cheap pickup lines work on you?” 

He starts to say no, no thank you, but Nat cuts him off. “Of course they do.” She practically pushes him out of his chair. She smiles at him in what most would assume to be an innocent way. Steve knows her better than that. “Weren’t you just saying that you wanted to dance?”

Steve turns towards the man, planning on telling him, no, that his friend is just being a ass. But when he looks at the guy again, all the cockiness is gone. His eyes look earnest. “Just one dance, that’s all I’m asking.” And Steve, oddly enough, believes him, more than anything. “ And if I step on your toes, you can sit back down _and_ I’ll by a round for you and your friend.” 

Steve can feel his resolve slipping away. “I can’t dance.”

The man's smirk is back; Steve can’t decide if he would rather punch or kiss it off of him. “That doesn’t sound like a no.” 

“One dance can’t hurt.” Right? How much can a person mess up a single dance? Surely, not very much. 

“No, no it can’t.” The man stops smiling for all of two seconds. “What’s your name?”

Steve feels the blush rising up his cheeks, remembering that he’s agreed to dance with a man whose name he doesn’t even know yet. “Steve,” He doesn’t give a last name. The last thing he needs is some sort of weird stalker. “Yours?” 

“Bucky.” He follows Steve’s lead, not giving his last name. Bucky is kind of an odd name, but Steve doesn’t question it. 

As they walk across the bar, Steve notices a few glares. This is a relatively lgbt-friendly part of the city, so it’s probably not about the whole gay thing. The guy -Bucky- he’s a pretty attractive man. Definitely the most attractive guy who has every hit on Steve. They’ve got to be jealous. 

Steve can’t get himself to walk out onto the dance floor. “Bucky?” Bucky turns around, eyebrow raised. “I really can’t dance. I’m really bad, awful. Really.” Steve wishes he could dance. Bucky can probably dance, real dancing with moves Steve doesn’t know the names of. 

Bucky just smiles, the overconfidence has disappeared from his eyes, he just looks concerned.. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Steve nods. “Well, Steve, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Because with dancing, it’s all about who leads, and you, my friend, happened to land yourself a lesson with the best dancer in this city.” 

Steve doesn’t believe him, not really, but his confidence is oddly comforting, as if it can make up for Steve’s total lack of it. He gently grabs Steve’s hand. “You just need to relax. Most people are only awful dancers if they try to think about it too much.” 

Steve can’t help but to roll his eyes. “Easy for you to say.” He mutters under his breath. 

And then, before Steve can even work up the courage to go out there, they’re in the center of the dance floor. The music is loud, Steve can hardly hear himself think, let alone another person. He’s in the middle of wondering just how this is going to work, when he feels hot breath near his ear. “We’ll stay in the middle, nobody will be watching us here, they’ll be too busy dancing themselves.” Steve tenses up and attempts to focus on what Bucky said and not what he wishes Bucky had said. 

Bucky smirks up at Steve and then leans in real close again. “‘Gonna make this easy on you, how’s that sound?”

“No salsa tonight?” The quip comes fast, like it always does when Steve’s nervous. Natasha would be making fun of him right now. But Bucky laughs, so Steve must either be so pitiable that Bucky can’t help but feel bad, or Steve’s not quite as transparent as he feared. 

“Here at Bucky’s School of Dance, we wait until at least the fifth lesson to start any sort of salsa, don’t you worry.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Bucky freaking _blushes_ , which Steve had assumed he was incapable of. “No way, any and all kinks are reserved for at least the third lesson. We need to start at the basics.” Steve unconsciously straightens up, like his body was just made to listen to whatever Bucky wants to tell him. 

Bucky remains quiet for a second, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Steve does feel like a little kid at a dance lesson, in an odd sort of way. “Just follow my lead, ‘kay?”

Steve nods, but Bucky doesn’t see it. He’s turned around, guiding Steve’s hands to the widest part of his hips. After he has them in place, Bucky starts moving. Gyrating would be a better word. His movements are so smooth, and Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing. Does he move his hand? Would that be creepy? 

Bucky’s movements stop, and he turns around so that they’re facing each other again. “Hey, Steve.” His voice is soft, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. Bucky reaches his hand out and gently brings Steve’s chin up so that they’re eye to eye. “Dancing is like sex. It’s just sex, without penetration, and sometimes with less touching. That’s all it is. Not hard, just sex.” 

Steve, still nervous, can’t help himself. “You may know how to dance, but if that’s your description of sex, I think you might be going about it the wrong way.” 

Bucky just looks confused for a few seconds, and then he snorts. “C’mon, you jackass, dance with me.” 

Steve is about to protest, he probably would have said something along the lines of ‘Yeah, because that worked so well the first time.’ But he’s distracted. Bucky pulls Steve’s arms tighter around his hips and links his own arms around Steve’s neck. Bucky starts moving his hips in time with the music. There’s no contact between them, not below the waist anyway. Steve can tell that this is intentional, the sly smirk on Bucky’s face tells him that much at least. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He has to look up to talk to Steve, just the littlest bit. Steve’s not sure if it’s the lighting in here or if it’s natural, but Bucky’s eyes. _God, Bucky’s eyes_. And his shirt, the collar is just wide enough across his shoulders that Steve can see his collar bone. Steve tries really hard not to think just how good a cluster of small bruises would look right there. “Is that better?”

With Bucky’s question, he finally stops fantasizing about all the things he’d like to do to him. Steve, finally, begins to tentatively move with the music. “Almost.” And then Steve takes Bucky’s hips and pulls him closer. 

They’re definitely touching now. Steve’s not sure if the music is actually faster, or if they’ve started dancing to the rhythm of his heart. Bucky’s moves are something Steve can only describe as filthy. With every passing second, there’s nothing Steve wants more than to remove at least a couple of the layers between them. 

Steve’s not sure if they’ve been dancing, if their movements can still be considered that, for minutes or hours. His heart’s pounding too fast for him to even hear the music.

It’s him this time, that leans down, their cheeks touching as his breath hits Bucky’s skin. “So I was thinkin,’” He can hear his own accent, so much thicker when he’s turned on. “Maybe we could get outta here.” One of his hands leave Bucky’s waist and pushes up under Bucky’s shirt, rubbing small circles on his back. 

Bucky looks like a freaking pornstar. He’s biting his lip, still moving to the music. 

Then he freezes. His face contorts into something very not Bucky-like. He looks unsure and nervous. He backs away from Steve. “I have to-” He pauses, like he’s trying to come up with something. “It’s just-” He looks down, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “I’ve got to go.”

And without even meeting Steve’s eye again, he leaves. 

Steve stranded in the middle of the dance floor, pushes through the crowd and, still stunned, makes his way back to the table he had been sharing with Nat. She, unsurprisingly, is not alone. She’s always been a better friend than date though, and as soon as she sees Steve coming towards her, she pushes the guy away. 

Whatever he’s feeling, and he’s not quite sure himself, must be apparent on his face, because Natasha doesn’t even ask any questions. She just hooks her arm around his, and they leave the bar. 

The walk home is short and silent. Steve’s still kind of taken aback by the entire thing. Did he really dance with someone like that? It sure doesn’t sound like him. 

Nat waits until they’re safely in the apartment before she says anything. “You want to talk about it?” 

Steve considers for a second. Does he? He’s not even sure what he would talk about. He was dancing with a guy, and then he wasn’t. He’s pretty sure not even a psychologist could read more into that. 

He shakes his head. “I think I’m gonna hit the sack. Don’t want to oversleep.”

Nat just rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well not all of us have the workout routine of a super soldier.” 

Steve grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, his hangovers usually aren’t too rough, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

He has had the same bed for more than five years now, but for some reason it feels too big now. Too much room to think. He’s lying there, and he can’t help but to think about all of the things that could have happened in this bed. 

Bucky lying, all stretched out. His ponytail out, his hair a mess. It would be a pain to keep it out of his face, but it would be worth it. Steve’s hands would have been threaded through his hair. Maybe Bucky would like his hair pulled, just a little. 

They would have fallen asleep, sheets and legs intertwined on the bed. 

Or maybe they wouldn’t have gotten that far. Steve hasn’t had sex on the new couch yet. It’s leather, Bucky would have tensed up at the cold at first, when the cool material first brushed his skin. His ponytail still in, but with the shorter pieces just starting to fall out. Mussed up from when they had to stop on the way to the apartment, not quite able to keep their hands off of each other. 

Maybe Steve would have pushed Bucky up against a wall on the way here, not even able to make it home. Bucky had bit his lip while they were dancing. Would he have done the same if Steve would have kneeled down in front of him, told him to keep his hands behind him while Steve blew him. 

Steve feels like a teenager as he shucks off his pants and starts imagining that it was Bucky taking care of him.


	3. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky just wants to have another unproductive therapy session. Enter Sam Wilson.

The tiny american flag is the only thing in Sam’s small conference room that would tip anyone off to this being part of a VA clinic. The rest of the room is decorated eclectically as possible, like Sam wanted the room to feel like it was for anything other than a psychiatrist’s office. 

Of course, the ugly couch from sometime around 1975 and the ugly abstract paintings on the wall don’t stop Bucky from knowing that he’s in a psychiatrist’s office, and that’s all that really matters. Maybe if he actually found some of those beads to hang over the door, the kind he’s only ever actually seen in movies, Bucky would at least be able to laugh as he walked through the door. Maybe he’ll get Sam a Christmas present. 

Does Sam celebrate Christmas? 

“Stop trying to deflect, Bucky.” Oops, he must have said that out loud. That happens sometimes, even more when he’s at a therapy session. Too much introspection is happening.

“I’m not trying to deflect.” Bucky deflects. “I’m simply curious.” 

“Uh huh. Sure.” If Bucky can be sarcastic occasionally, Sam majored in it in college. “I just want to know what you did over the weekend. Usually that’s what you _want_ to talk about it. But today you’re deflecting. Something had to have happened.” 

“Nothing happened.” Except, of course, Bucky being a complete freak, but Bucky feels like that’s only worth mentioning at one or two sessions with your psychiatrist before it becomes an established thing. 

“Have you tried talking to your parents more? I know that they-” 

“Miss me. I know.” 

“Bucky, I know that we’ve been over this, but your dad was in the military, it might be nice to have someone that understands fully what you’re going through, at least to some degree.” 

“I thought that’s why I was here?” Bucky looks around the room like he’s searching for something. “This is the Veteran’s Hospital, isn’t it? They stopped funding you guys in the ‘70s, right? Because that is the only thing that could explain this god-awful couch.” 

Sam laughs but apparently keeps his train of thought. “You could always just visit, you don’t have to move in with them. A couple hours, that’s all they’re asking for.” 

“I was there on Mother’s Day.” At this point, even Bucky knows that he's starting to sound like a child.

“And was it awful?” Something, Bucky can’t exactly pinpoint it, about Sam’s expression makes Bucky want to punch him. Repeatedly. He resists the urge, for now. 

“They wanted to go swimming.” 

Sam nods, like this is a total reasonable answer to his question. “I don’t know if anybody has told you, but they make shirts specifically for swimming. They usually even let you choose your own color.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and then my sisters and aunts all want to know why I suddenly have to wear a swim shirt.” He flexes his left arm. “ And a long sleeved one at that.”

“And you say you’re worried about skin cancer.” 

Bucky can’t help but laugh, even if it’s not really funny. Sam can come up with an answer to anything. Bucky knows, because he’s spent entire sessions asking him completely illogical questions. “They wouldn’t believe me. I’m not exactly the type to worry about skin cancer. And anyway, I don’t burn. I never really have.” 

“You could try visiting on a Saturday. Maybe with just your parents there. Surely the adults aren’t the ones vying at the chance for a dip in the pool.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky concedes. “Maybe I’ll try that sometime.” 

“Bucky?” Sam’s voice is soft, it always gets that way when he wants Bucky to take a question seriously. “You do believe that they miss you, don’t you?”

Bucky has to think about it, but eventually he nods. “I know that they miss… someone. They miss _their Bucky_. Hell, I miss that Bucky. The guy that laughed at everything, even when it wasn't funny. The guy that flirted with everybody he saw on the street. The guy who would strip down to his underwear and jump into the pool if he forgot his swimming trunks. I’m 100% believe that they miss that guy. I just don’t think I _am_ that guy, not anymore.” 

“War changes people, especially if they have your experiences. Your family knows that too.” 

Bucky nods. “They also know why I joined up. If it wasn’t for Dad, and his dad, and his dad. I wouldn’t have. I can’t deal with the look on my dad’s face. He just stares at my arm, like he’s thinking it’s his fault.” 

“And do you blame him? Is it his fault?”

Before he can even completely process what Sam had said, he jumps out of his seat. “Of course it’s not his _fucking_ fault. I didn’t force me to sign up, that was all on me. He spent the two weeks before telling me that he wouldn’t care if I didn’t follow tradition. How he only did because he wasn’t ‘college material.’ Why the fuck would I blame him?” 

It’s only then when Bucky realizes just how loudly he’s been yelling. 

He sits back down on the ugly material. “Sorry.” 

Sam just shakes his head. “No problem, really.” 

“It’s just that. I don’t know. I’ve been wound up the last few days.” 

Sam raises his eyebrows. The only time he gets judgmental during these sessions is when they talk about this. “And are you still ‘blowing off steam’ in the same manner?” 

Bucky has the forethought to at least attempt to look guilty, even if he doesn’t feel it at all.

Sam looks like an even mixture between annoyed and concerned. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Bucky.” 

“Your concern is noted, but have you seen me? I’m pretty certain that I can hold my own, thank you.” 

“That’s not the only way to get hurt, and we both know it. Don’t play dumb with me.” 

“What? You think I’m worried about waking up alone the next morning? ‘Cause that’s definitely not a problem.”

“Yeah, sure." Sam doesn't say anything for a second. Bucky can almost see the wheels turning in his head, as if he's debating whether or not it would be worth it to have this conversation again. They've spent whole sessions talking about Bucky's love life. Sam does not approve, and frankly, Bucky doesn't give a damn. His strong opinions on the topic are Bucky's only real complaint when it comes to Sam. Bucky is relieved when Sam sighs. He's probably decided to drop it, for the moment. "Speaking of, you finally gonna tell me what you did over the weekend?”

Bucky winks at Sam. “Just how many of the juicy details do you need, Sammy?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me Sammy. And as few details as possible, thank you. I just ate lunch.”

“Awww, Sammy, c’mon. Nothin’ _too_ interesting happened, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s a change, isn’t? Usually your weekend adventures lead to all too much interesting.” 

Bucky can feel his face turning red. “Nah, not this weekend.” He rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed. “Not that I didn’t want it too. I just. I froze up.” 

Sam looks concerned. “You’ve never done that before? Froze up?”

“No, I mean finding someone to hook up with, that’s always been my strong suit, you know. And it was all going pretty good. We were dancing. He was trying to dance, anyway. He was pretty bad, now that I’m sober.” Bucky laughs in spite of himself. “But god, was he attractive. This man had the best jawline I’ve ever seen, and his arms, god.” 

“If you were so into him, what made you freeze?”

“Well, I think it was, don’t laugh, but I think it was when he put his fingers up my shirt. He had just asked if I wanted to leave, and hell yeah did I want to leave, but I felt his hand on my skin and I haven’t-” 

Sam’s forehead scrunches together. “Bucky, do you mean to tell me that with all this sex you’ve been having, not once have you taken your shirt off?” Sam doesn’t sound accusing at all, but he almost sounds a little betrayed, like he can’t believe that Bucky didn’t trust him with that information. 

“I didn’t think-” 

“Bucky,” Sam’s voice is quiet, like he’s talking to a teenager he’s worried is about to jump off a ledge. “You’re here, partly anyway, because you received an injury, and all of the scarring that came with it. You need to be more comfortable telling people, or at least me, how you feel. I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.” Sam shakes his head, a smile on his face. “This whole time I thought you just didn’t want your family to see it. I thought you were worried about their guilt. I didn’t realize you actually had a problem with the aesthetics of it.” 

Bucky’s starting to feel actually guilty. It’s the guy’s job he’s messing with, when you get to the bottom of it. “I’m sorry.” 

Sam just shakes his head. “No, don’t feel bad. This is good. We’re getting somewhere.” Sam checks his watch. “And actually, this is probably a pretty good stopping point. I have another appointment in about ten minutes, and someone brought in some donuts to the employee lounge right before I came to meet you.” Sam winks. “What I want _you_ to do, is think about how you would feel if you saw a guy with some scarring similar to yours.” 

“Easy,” Bucky sits back on the couch, arms laying flat out on the both sides of the upper part of couch. “Probably be torn between wanting throw up and handing him my change.” 

Sam laughs, which is not the reaction Bucky had been expecting. “Okay, but this guy you met over the weekend? Best jawline in New York? What if he had scarring, up his arm. Maybe a little redness. Would you still sleep with him?”

“Hell-” Bucky pauses. Steve, with his blue eyes and neat blonde hair. That stops him. 

“Just think about, okay?” 

And with that, Sam leaves.


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve just wants to have a quiet night at home full of sulking and Netflix. Enter Natasha.
> 
> This chapter goes out to Waiod_64, who has been commenting consistently on my chapters :)

Steve pauses the tv. “Nat.” He whines, long and drawn out. “I can’t find anything to watch.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. Steve can’t see her, but he knows. You can feel her eyerolls. “We have Netflix. You could, probably literally, sit your ass on that couch for the rest of your life without rewatching anything, ever.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “But I want to watch something good. There’s nothing good on Netflix.” 

“Watch Parks and Rec. We all know that you have a ‘secret’ crush on Ben.” 

Steve doesn’t even argue; she’s right. “Well, I want to watch something new.” 

“You were just complaining about how many things you have on your list that you don’t have time for. Watch one of those.” 

Steve just drops the remote. “I’m not in the mood for anything on my list.” 

Another eyeroll. “Lock yourself in your room and watch porn or something, just quit bothering me.” 

“Awww, you don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” Natasha deadpans. “What’s been bothering you the last couple of days, anyway? You’ve been mopey.” 

“I do not mope.” 

Nat laughs. “You’re doing it right now. I’m surprised you’re not pouting with your arms crossed.” 

“Grown men do not mope, Natasha.”

“Fine, use whatever word you want. Sulking, brooding, whatever it is, you’re doing it.” 

“Am not.” At this point, even Steve realizes that he sounds extremely childish.

“You could try talking about it.”

“You’ll just tell me that I’m being stupid.”

Nat visibly brightens up at that. “Do you have a little me that follows you around everywhere and tells you what you should or shouldn’t be doing? Like a conscious, but more fun?” 

“She’s mostly just in my head, actually. And for the most part, she just nags.” 

“Well you need somebody to nag at you, or you would spend all your free time walking old ladies across the street and saving kittens, or whatever it is you do in your free time.” Nat takes a seat on the couch, repositioning Steve's head -without his permission- onto her lap. “Now, tell Auntie Nat who kicked your puppy, and she’ll go beat them up.” 

He should probably have some sort of problem with being treated like a three year old, but now’s not the time to deal with that. “It’s nothing someone else did, it’s-” Steve’s not sure how to even breach the topic. He feels so _ughhha_ inside. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, what have you done?” Her tone is mock-serious, but Steve can’t help but feel like a 10 year old about to get in trouble. 

“I don’t know if I did anything, really, I drank more than I normally do, and I only remember flashes, but what I remember… I’m just not sure.” 

“Are you talking about when you were dancing with that guy?” Steve nods, which is slightly more difficult to do while resting your head on top of someone’s thigh. “That was almost a week ago! Why don’t you tell me what you do remember, and I’ll see if I can help you sort out anything.” 

“So I remember not wanting to dance, and then I remember at least some of the dancing. I’m not sure how long we were out there. I remember the guy’s name being Bucky. I remember, I think, suggesting that we get out of there? Something along those lines, anyway. And, I’m really not sure, but I think I had started to feel him up? I remember doing that much. Anyway, all the sudden he had this panicked look on his face. I remember that part perfectly. He froze up and backed away, this horrified look on his face. He basically ran away from me, I didn’t even have time to ask what was wrong. So, I’m just-” 

“Steve?” Nat’s voice sounds skeptical. “Are you worried that you assaulted that man?” Steve doesn’t say anything. “God, I live with an idiot. First off, you were not nearly drunk enough to not remember attacking someone, okay? I’ve had to drag you home before, but that night you were totally fine. Second, I’m not one to say that someone being all over someone makes any kind of assault okay, and you didn’t assault him anyway, but he was all over you just as much, if not more, than you were all over him. I checked in on you a couple times. Both of you were dancing one hundred percent consensually, from what I could tell anyway.” 

“But Nat, his face.” 

“Steve, you knew this guy for all of what? Half an hour? Less than an hour, definitely. He could have a million things going on that you don’t even know about. Maybe he had forgotten to take some sort of medication and had to rush off for that. Maybe he forgot to feed his neighbor’s dog for the week they were on vacation. There are a million things that he could have realized that had nothing to do with you assaulting him.” 

“But wouldn’t he have just explained then?” 

“Oh yes.” Nat agrees. “Because people who are drunk off their ass are usually totally reasonable. So true.” 

Natasha is making sense, but Steve can’t decide if it’s because she’s actually right or if it’s because it’s what he wants to believe anyway. “You’re probably right.” 

“I,” She says decisively. “Am always right. You should have realized this years ago, but I’m going to chalk your forgetfulness up to the mental turmoil that you’ve probably been putting yourself through.” 

Steve sits up, already starting to feel a little better. “Thanks Nat.” 

“Think nothing of it.” She immediately changes her mind. “Actually, think about it a lot. I just helped you out quite a lot, actually. And I didn’t even charge any counseling fees or anything.”

“What do you want me to do?” 

A normal person would blush. Natasha’s skin remains as translucent as ever. “You remember the club we were at that night? Well, there’s this guy. He’s a total jerk, but he’s a really attractive jerk, and he’s bartending tonight. He might have hinted, just a little, that he got off at 11:30 and he may be willing to… you know, stay up just a little bit later than that.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Do I need to get out of the house?” 

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. He rents a room above the club from the owner. _That_ is most definitely taken care of. It’s just that, the girl I was going to go with bailed, something about her girlfriend needing help doing something. Which I assume is code for ‘wants to bang,’ but I didn’t ask for clarification.” 

“You want me to go to the bar with you.” Nat just smiles up at him. “After how well it went last weekend?” 

“Hey, you met a hot guy last weekend, he convinced you to dance. You basically dry humped on the dance floor.” 

“And then he left.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe this weekend you’ll meet a guy who will actually make it back to the apartment. Or at least to a bathroom, or something.” 

“Nat, I don’t really-” 

“C’mon. You need to meet people! Friends are good. You might even find someone to sleep with. You can’t just rely on me to fill all of your socialization needs.” 

“Not everyone has quite so many _needs_ as you do Natasha.”

“Did Steve Rogers just make a sex joke?” She throws her arms up into the air. “Now, we are getting somewhere.” Steve can’t help but laugh at the petite redhead who could literally take down men three times her size jumping for joy at the fact that he almost made a sex joke. “But you will come, won’t you? I promise, if you find someone to talk to or dance with or bang or whatever, I’ll make myself scarce. I’ll make Clint jealous, flirt with some bikers or something.” 

Steve silently asks God to make him strong enough to say no, but it doesn’t work. “Fine. I’ll go. But if-”

“If something horrible happens, and you need to leave for some reason, I won’t even argue. You can just go. Promise.” 

“Why is it you need me there again?” 

“If I walk in with someone else, people are less likely to come and hit on me without some sort of encouragement on my part. I’m just preemptively getting rid of a couple of annoyances.” 

“You confuse me.” 

Natasha winks up at him. “All part of my charm, babe.” She pushes him towards his bedroom. “No go put on something sexy, we’re going out.” 

They walk to that same club again. They can hear the pounding music blasting from the speakers before they even get in the door. 

It’s not quite as full as the last time; it’s early though. There’s plenty of time for it to fill up. Steve thinks maybe Nat will want to go say hello to her… whatever Clint is, but she heads straight for a table towards the back of the room. “There. We can see the whole place from here. The best spot for scoping out your potential fuck.” 

“I thought you were here for Clint?”

Nat nods. “Oh, I am. But he has to work for now, doesn’t he? We might as well make our time here well worth it.” 

“Who says I need-”

“I do. And didn’t we just agree an hour ago that I am always right? You can’t have forgotten that already.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Exactly.” She looks satisfied, almost a little smug. “Now, I’m going to go convince Clint to give us some free samples, you start scanning the room. I want your top three to five choices as soon as I get back. And don’t accidentally pick anybody sexist or homophobic tonight, okay? I don’t want to deal with any bloody noses.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “That was two times. And _not_ my fault.” 

Nat starts walking towards the bar. “Three times!” 

For the life of him, Steve can not remember what the third time Nat is talking about. He’s pretty sure that he would remember getting a bloody nose, especially if- Oh. She probably counts that time at Bruce’s house in college.

Yeah. 

Probably that. 

Despite the fact that he doesn’t actually feel like a one night stand tonight, he starts looking casually around the room. Nat might have been joking about that ‘top three’ thing, but she might not have been. It’s better to be safe than sorry, especially when dealing with Nat. 

There’s a bearded guy at the bar -the opposite end from where Nat is cajoling Clint- who Steve actually has high hopes for, until Beard places his hand around the girl standing next to him’s waist. _Damn_. Whether or not Beard is into guys, he’s definitely hear with that girl. Natasha would suggest flirting with the guy regardless, but Steve doesn’t really enjoy that kind of thing. 

There’s another guy, definitely not straight, that’s pretty decent looking, a few tables from where Steve’s sitting. The guy is sitting with friends, which is slightly more nerve wracking than if he would be sitting alone, but still not completely impossible. The guy has a couple of piercings. Not usually Steve’s thing, but this guy is definitely pulling them off. He can't help but it wonder if he has any piercings in some more interesting places. 

He has just about worked up the nerve to go up and talk to the guy, when he sees someone familiar out of the corner of his eye. 

_Shit_.

Steve looks down, not wanting to accidentally make the most awkward eye contact of his entire existence. If Natasha doesn’t get back here in the next five minutes, he’s leaving her here.


	5. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky just needs help getting over some trauma. Enter Steve.

For the first time since he was in the hospital, Bucky is looking at himself, without his shirt on, in the mirror. 

He has to bite back the bile in his throat. Most of his arm is a mess of tangled raised lines, like he has some sort of thin, exotic vine growing around it. The parts that aren’t are the red of a two-day-old sunburn. The few pieces of skin that are still his natural color look pale and alien surrounded by everything else.

His arm is disgusting, there’s no other word for it. 

He tries not to focus on it. The rest of his body looks basically the same as before he served. His torso is paler than before, the result of not going outside without a long sleeved shirt for a year and a half. 

Now he tries to imagine Steve -with his perfect jawline and almost-too-wide-to-be-real torso- with an arm like his. He imagines the redhead Steve had been with that night with an arm like his. Ryan Reynolds with an arm like his. 

It might be weird at first, but he thinks most people could get passed it. Maybe? Unless they were a real asshole, if it made someone uncomfortable, they’d probably just ask him to leave his shirt on. Right? 

He tries to ignore his growing surge of anxiety. He needs to experiment, and there’s no time like the present. 

He wiggles into the second tightest pair of jeans he owns and leaves the top two buttons unbuttoned on a black shirt. He’d actually put some product in his hair after his shower, and so it doesn’t look too bad. 

He looks in the mirror again -much more comfortable now that he has a shirt on- and looks himself over. He’s no Ryan Reynolds, but not too shabby either. 

Bucky hails a cab and tells him the same place as he had last week. He’s not even annoyed when the driver just complains about his daughter’s new fiance the whole time. The drive isn’t going to take that long, and all he really has to do to keep the driver going is make appropriately timed sympathetic noises. 

Maybe he could be a therapist. 

He’ll have to mention it to Sam. 

Bucky’s in a pretty good mood. And he hadn’t even take -that many- drinks to limber himself up before leaving the apartment. The last couple times he’s been to this place, he’s had pretty decent luck. Even last time, until he’d had the panic attack, he’d been having pretty good luck. How often does the _other_ person recommend that they ‘get out of here’? Usually Bucky has to try a little harder than that to even get them to agree when it’s him offering. 

He walks in, disappointed to see that none of the bartenders are really his type. There’s one guy, down at the very end, that is kind of promising, but he’s flirting with-

 _Oh. Shit._

The redhead. From last time. 

Bucky doesn’t know what the fuck he should do. Which is worse, having to make awkward conversation or not having any kind of conversation. From what Bucky can remember, Steve had seemed like a pretty cool dude. Maybe he could even get him to dance again, with a promise of no weird PTSD-inspired freakouts, probably. 

First thing on the agenda, another drink. Definitely another drink. 

He must look desperate enough, because once he gets to the bar he only has to wait a few seconds for a woman to come and take his order. A shot and a different imported beer than last time. Bucky’s not exactly superstitious, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

He takes the shot in one go, but he takes his time with the beer. He’s probably doing that thing Sam told him about, where he unconsciously tries to sabotage himself. 

By the time he finishes the beer, he’s starting to feel a little more confident. Besides, it’s early. Even if Steve sees him and immediately tries to deck him for some reason, he has more than enough time to head to another bar and try to pick up someone else. 

When he finally gets up to make his way to the table at the back of the bar where Steve had been sitting, he sees that the table is empty. _Damn it_. 

He sits back down at the bar, resigned to a night of trying to find someone who is almost as attractive as Steve. Not that Steve would have slept with him, probably. He seems like the kind of guy who might be put off by someone running from him in horror. But still, even flirting with Steve was an experience in itself. 

“Hey,” The voice, Steve’s voice, comes from the seat beside his. 

Bucky, startled, fumbles. “Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting-”

“To see me? Yeah, that wasn’t exactly in my agenda for tonight either.” Steve sighs. “But, I have overbearing friends. My nights rarely stick to what I had planned for them.” 

Oh. His friend probably made him come over to him. “I’m-” Bucky starts to apologize for his freakout. 

“I’d like to apologize.” Steve interrupts him. 

Bucky just raises an eyebrow. “For what?” 

“I mean I obviously did _something_. Or, I feel like I did something. Nat said it could have been something completely unrelated, but I’m pretty sure that-” 

“It wasn’t you. That was totally and completely all on me.”

“Surely I did-”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve does seem like the type that wouldn’t want to blame someone else. “If you really don’t want to blame me, blame some freaky German scientist hiding out somewhere in the Middle East.”

Bucky’s not going to lie, he said that with the intent of shocking Steve, but he just takes it in stride. “Military, right?” Bucky just nods. “I was getting that vibe the other night. Something about you just screams ‘I’m not taking orders anymore.’”

Bucky can’t hold back his laugh. “Probably the hair, I’ve gotten comments about it before.” 

“I don’t know, I like it.” And there he goes, turning red again. This man is trying to kill Bucky, that’s what he’s doing. 

“Do you… wanna dance?” Bucky’s sure that even Steve, who he’s met twice now, can hear the unsurety in his voice. If Bucky was Steve, he would say something along the lines of ‘You gonna run away this time?’ or ‘You sure you can handle that.’

Bucky, thank god, is not Steve. Steve just smiles and looks at his hands. “I don’t know if I’m really feeling a dance right now.” 

“Oh yeah. I understand. I’ll just-” Bucky goes to stand up. 

Steve stops him. “You didn’t let me finish, my friend, Natasha, she kind of dragged me here tonight. Not really in the mood for it. I wouldn’t say no to some pancakes though, if you wanted to go get some food?” 

It takes Bucky a moment to process what he heard. “Wait. Really?” 

Bucky must sound at least a little bit like an overeager puppy, because Steve starts laughing. “Yeah, really. C’mon, I know this really great diner just a block and a half away.” 

Bucky, still not completely sure how he ended up here, stops. “Don’t you have to tell your friend that you’re leaving?” 

“Nah? She can take care of herself.” He looks down to the end of the bar, where the redhead is talking to one of the bartenders. “Besides, she’s a little preoccupied at the moment.” 

This time it’s Steve that’s doing the dragging; Bucky can hardly keep up. “How do I know that you’re not going to pull me into an alley and choke me?” 

“Something tells me that even if I did, you would enjoy it.” And then Steve has the audacity to fucking _wink_ at him. Bucky speeds up to keep pace with Steve. They’re basically running down the street. 

By the time they make it to the diner, they’re both practically panting. Bucky feels like he’s dying, but Steve looks like he’s barely breaking a sweat. He probably fucking runs in his free time, jesus. 

The ancient old lady who takes their order calls Steve by name and already knows what he likes. Bucky, not wanting to slow things up, just agrees to have the same thing as Steve. The old lady just smiles and shakes her head, making her way to the back of the diner at a much faster pace than anyone her age has the right to be capable of. 

They sit awkwardly waiting for their food for a few minutes. Bucky’s not sure how Steve is feeling, but there are definitely a few things weighing on his mind. 

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.” He can feel his palms getting sweaty already, but he’s determined to tell Steve the truth. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to talk about anything that you’re not comfortable with.” 

“No, I ran out on you that night, and I feel bad. I want to tell you. It might be- I might not be able to word things that clearly, but I want to tell you.” 

Steve just nods. 

“I guess, in a kind of roundabout way, it is something that you did, but it’s not like you did something inappropriate. I just, I have some scarring on my arm that I’m not completely comfortable with. I’ve… you know… been with people… since then, but it’s always been fast and quick and not really intimate at all. I’ve never… I haven’t taken off my shirt with anyone, not since before… And then I felt your fingers on my back, and I just froze.” 

“Bucky, I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t you. I wanted you to do… whatever to me. With anyone else, you would have been fine. I’m just… Well, I’m just kind of screwed up.” 

“So is that going to be a permanent thing?” 

Bucky just raises an eyebrow. 

“The shirt thing? I mean it’s not like you have to have your shirt off to have sex. I’m sure you look nice with it off, but I don’t want to force you to be uncomfortable just to satisfy me. I’m sure the scars aren’t nearly as bad as you think they are, and even if they are, I’m pretty sure I can deal with some scarring.” Bucky can feel his mouth gaping open. Steve, for the umpteenth time, goes red. “I mean, assuming that you still want to sleep with me that is. You seemed pretty into the idea the other night, but I guess you might have had a lot to drink, and even if you did the other night that doesn’t necessarily mean-” 

“Yes.” Bucky attempts, and fails, at keeping his heart rate steady. “That sounds good. Great even. Now, if you want.” He seems to have lost the ability to form even semi-complex sentences. 

Steve chuckles. “I would, but we already ordered. I would feel bad. Maggie is a friend.” 

At this point, Bucky isn’t surprised, or even disappointed. “Yeah, okay. But after.” 

Steve nods. “After.” 

With that decided, the conversation almost completely stops. It’s not awkward though, not really. Not for Bucky anyway. It’s like there’s some weird sort of electricity that’s bouncing between them. He's never been so excited for sex before, not even as a teenage boy. And not only does he get _fuck_ Steve, but he gets to fuck _Steve_. That's not an excitement he's felt before, not at the level he's feeling it right now. 

Bucky almost laughs out loud when Maggie comes with their food. It's as if everything they could possibly have on their menu is sitting in front of them.

“So, Steve, do you usually clean the poor diner out of its food, or is that only reserved for visits after 10 o'clock?” 

Steve looks almost sheepish. “I usually come here after-”

“You work out?” 

Steve nods. “I get hungry.” 

“Marathons will do that to people.” Bucky tries to sounds sympathetic. 

“I've never ran a full marathon before…” 

They finish -Steve finishes would be more accurate- their meal relatively peace. Bucky has yet to have another panic attack while thinking about Steve, even while imagining both of them totally nude. He counts that as a positive sign. 

Steve has all but licked the syrup from his plate by the time they're both ready to leave. He feels an urge to complain about just how much Steve is able to eat while still looking hot as hell, but then he imagines having to work out every day, and that changes his mind. 

Bucky can see that Steve is on the verge of arguing when Bucky tells Maggie to split the bill in half, but thankfully he backs down without a word. 

Bucky knows instinctively that it's going to be an argument they have next time. 

Next time. Huh. It's been awhile since he's thought about a next time with someone. 

Bucky feels an urge to grab Steve’s hand as they leave the diner, but he holds himself back. Despite the fact that he knows what they're planning on doing, handholding seems oddly intimate. Something you'd do with someone you're dating. 

“So, your place or mine?” This is the part Bucky feels confident about. Hooking up is something that he feels almost zero awkwardness about. 

“I don't know how close your place is, but mines only about a ten minute walk from here, and my roommate is gone for the night.” 

“All night?” Steve nods. “Well you've got me beat. My place is a taxi ride away, and I never know when my roommates are gonna turn up.” 

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand, he doesn't have any of Bucky’s uncertainty, apparently. “What’re we wasting our time here for then?” 

Ten minutes later and Steve is fumbling with his key. Bucky, in Steve’s defense, is not helping. It's not Bucky’s fault that Steve is so damn _attractive_. 

Steve finally pushes Bucky away and firmly thrusts his key into the slot. 

The apartment, as promised, is completely silent. Bucky is about to make a lewd comment, when Steve gently pushes him against the wall. 

“You'll need to tell me, if I need to stop.” 

Bucky gets defensive. “I'm not that fragile.” Steve just looks at him, more than a little disbelief in his eyes. “I'll tell you if I want you to stop. Happy?” 

“Unbelievably so.” And then Bucky's brain shorts out. Steve starts at the base of his neck and works his way up, focusing on the spot right above his collar bone. “Wanted to do that. Since I saw you. The first time.” 

Bucky wants to reply. He really does. But as soon as he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a mixture of unintelligible syllables. 

“Bed?” He's finally able to articulate. 

Steve smiles and backs up. Bucky whines at the loss of contact. “Follow me.” Steve grabs his hand and starts pulling him towards what Bucky can only assume is his bedroom. 

Steve closes the door behind them. And the click sounds _final_ somehow, like a confirmation that they are actually doing this. 

Bucky, more relaxed than he usually is, hops nonchalantly onto the bed. 

Steve is the one who looks nervous now. “How do you wanna do this? I'm good, _any_ way, really.” 

Bucky doesn't even have to think about it. “I want you to fuck me.” Steve’s face drops so fast that for a second Bucky is worried that he's having a seizure or something. “That okay?” 

Steve starts shucking off clothes. Bucky envies him then, being able to just shed layers like it's no big deal. “That is perfect. Just not what I was expecting. Didn't want to seem _too_ eager, ya know?” 

Steve starts digging around in his side table. Bucky, who had been having an internal debate since the diner, finally makes up his mind. 

Slipping his shirt off isn't physically that difficult. It's just buttons. He can undo buttons. The cold isn't even that much of a shock, when it hits his skin. 

He throws the shirt off the bed. He doesn't want it to be a crutch. Steve is a nice guy. He won't care what kind of scar he has on his- 

“Bucky?” Stevens voice is soft and gentle. He sounds… Overwhelmed? 

“What?” Bucky's voice is gruff. If there is a way that he can blow this off as unimportant, then that is what he's going to do. 

Steve slides into the bed. He takes Bucky's arms and slowly pulls them apart, looking at Bucky for permission the entire time. 

And then Bucky is lying back against the pillows, Steve kneeling over him. He's looking him up and down. 

“Bucky,” Bucky flinches at Steve’s voice, not sure if he's ready to hear the reaction. “You are so beautiful.” 

That. 

That throws Bucky for a loop. He's not quite sure what he had been expecting. Not anything mean, not from Steve anyway. Brave? Maybe. Strong, even. Those were the kind of words he had been expecting. All those things people had told him while he was still in the hospital. 

“You know that, right? All of you is beautiful.” A pressure, Steve's hands, on Bucky's hips. “Just tell me if-”

“If I want you to stop!” Bucky finished for him “I know; god, I know.” 

Steve chuckles, and Bucky gets the feeling that he's enjoying this, the asshole. When Bucky gets a chance he's going to- 

Steve starts making his way up Bucky's torso, effectively derailing his train of thought. 

And then Bucky stops thinking. He allows Steve to take total control. It's not as terrifying as he thought it would be, to let someone else take control. 

Steve is almost reverent in his movements, making sure that every part of Bucky is touched. Slowly making his way down Bucky’s body.

Bucky wants to roll his eyes when Steve shoots him another questioning look before slowly starting to open Bucky up. 

If Steve was a little rough earlier, he totally changes pace now. “I'm not a fucking virgin.” Bucky doesn't even try to keep the impatience out of his voice. 

Steve drags himself up so that the two of them are almost eye to eye, two fingers still in Bucky’s ass. “Okay, but I'm enjoying this.” And then Steve curls his fingers. 

Bucky stops complaining. 

By the time Steve has had his fun, Bucky is keening, fit to burst any second. Steve lines himself up with Bucky. “Hold on for me, ‘Kay Buck?” 

Bucky nods, too on edge himself to make sure that Steve gets the message. 

As Steve pushes into him, Bucky loses all other sensations. 

They're both too wound up to keep it up for long, and the rapid pace Steve sets doesn't do anything to help. 

Bucky's brain shuts off for what feels like minutes, an overwhelming pleasure all he feels. He's only dimly aware of Steve pulling out of him. 

When Bucky fully regains his senses, he realizes that Steve is laying on him, his breathing still a little heavy. He tries to wrap his brain around that. The main with a perfect body and perfect face and perfect personality -even if he is currently almost disgustingly sweating- is laying on him after fucking him so hard Bucky’s brain shut off. 

After a few minutes, Steve relaxes onto the bed. And as the warmth of Steve's skin leaves, that's when all of the fears that come with sex for Bucky these days start to show their faces. 

This might be a one time thing. He doesn’t want Steve to think that he expects anything more, but he also doesn’t want to seem like he didn't like it. He has to find a balance between showing interest and acting clingy. He hasn’t felt like this after sex since high school, so unsure of himself. 

Fuck, people are hard. 

Steve doesn’t seem to be facing of any internal turmoil of his own. He just laughs, curling himself into Bucky’s arms. “Next time,” He sighs. “I want you to fuck me.”

One sentence, and all of the weight and worry that had been sitting in Bucky’s chest is gone. Next time. It’s a nice phrase, after everything. Hopeful. It’s been a long time since he’s felt hopeful about anything. 

But Steve, Steve is something he can see himself getting hopeful about. 

“I read about this theory,” Steve had been so silent that Bucky had thought he had fallen asleep, so Bucky jumps when he starts talking. “It’s this theory that says that basically the world is made up of these groups of about five hundred people. The five hundred people you interact with, and everyone else is just static. That’s why you go to some restaurant in Vancouver and see the girl who used to babysit you or you’re on a holiday in Paris and see the guy who delivers your mail. It’s that group of five hundred people.” Steve pauses, like Bucky is supposed to be getting something. 

“Okay?” 

“Well, I was thinking, maybe we’re in each other’s group, we just didn’t know it.” 

“Yeah, maybe we are.” Usually, Bucky is annoyed by people who go on and on about _fate_ and _destiny_ and _a greater purpose_. But, though he believes their apparent not-straightness and similar taste in bars has more to do with their meeting than anything else, he’s prepared to let Steve believe in fate. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” He doesn’t give Steve enough time to reply. “I think I’ve never dated anybody so rambly before.” It comes out of his mouth before he had even thought it through. Shit. 

Before he can start backtracking though, Steve looks up at him, blue eyes shining, a stupid grin on his face, and kisses him. 

_Hell_ , Bucky thinks _maybe there’s more to this whole fate thing after all._


End file.
